


All I Want for Hanukkah

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: First Kiss, Future Fic, Getting Together, Gratuitous use of flashbacks (okay just one), Hanukkah, Holsom are married, Holsom are parents, Holster is Jewish, Holster loves Hanukkah decorations, Kid Fic, M/M, Mensch on a Bench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: When his and Holster's son complains to Ransom about their Mensch on a Bench, Malachi, well he just has to explain where they got him and the reason he's so important to Holster.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 7 (slightly belated): All I Want for Christmas of the Check, Please 12 Days of Christmas... blended with Eight Nights of Hanukkah Day 5: Our first Hanukkah as a couple
> 
> These lovely characters (David excluded) are the creation of Ngozi Ukazu from her webcomic [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/episodes)

**2027- Present Day**

 

“But, Babaaaaa, it’s creepy! It’s like it’s staring at me no matter where I stand. Can’t we just give it away?” Eight-year-old David whined as he picked up the plush doll which, for today sat in the middle of the coffee table, and shoved it under the couch.

With a sigh, Ransom crossed the living room and liberated it from its under-the-sofa prison. Once he’d restored it to a place of honor, he plopped down onto the cushion next to his son. “Davey, listen. When I first saw Malachi, I hated him too, but your dad…” Ransom trailed off, a contented, blissful smile taking over his face, and for a few moments, he let himself relive the moment before shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Well, he loves the thing.”

David rolled his eyes, making sure to turn his body away from Holster’s Mensch on a Bench, Malachi. “Why can’t we just get an elf like everyone in my class has?”

And David thought the Mensch was creepy. Ransom shuddered at the thought of one of those elves, and their seemingly cherubic faces, all smiles, pretending to be innocent, when for all he knew they would come to life and slaughter him in his sleep. The news the next day would be filled with soundbites about how the evil toy was found playing keep away with his kidneys. No, thank you. He’d stick with Malachi. “Well, for one, I think it would insult your dad to replace Malachi with an elf. And two, the message of the Mensch is much better than scaring you into behaving.”

Again with the eye-rolling. Such attitude. Ransom had no idea where he got it. Scratch that, he knew exactly where David got it. Even though he wasn’t Holster’s biologically, that misanthropy and saltiness was apparently a Birkholtz gene through and through, because David? Apparently inherited that from his Aunt Aubrey courtesy of her donated egg. Well, that and the eyes. 

Don’t tell Holster, but Ransom was especially happy that David got the blue eyes.

“Yeah, but he’s weird. And Dad talks to him! It’s just…”

“Weird?”

“Totally.”

With a small shake of his head, Ransom was about to launch into the story of when Holster first got Malachi, but was interrupted with a shout of panic from upstairs. He craned his head towards the ceiling. “Hey, Babe, you okay?”

No answer, but soon the tense silence was cut short by Holster’s thunderous clambering down the stairs. Moments later he stormed into the living room cleaving to a bit of hair. “Oh my God! I’m old! Look! I have a grey hair!”

Ransom pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re blonde. How can you tell?”

Holster stopped his panicking just long enough to deadpan and level him with a glare. “Don't minimize my concern, Rans! It's a grey hair, and I'm turning into the Cryptkeeper!"

“One grey hair is no reason to panic.”

Holster let go of the offending strand of hair and placed both hands on Ransom’s shoulders, giving him a good shake. “I’m thirty-six! I’m too young to be the Cryptkeeper! I have lots of cool left in me.”

“Babe, Holster, Holtzy..., you are many things, but you were never cool. You may be thirty-six, but you still dress like Bill Belichick.”

Holster groaned, simultaneously rolling his eyes at him (see...told you. Eye rolling was a Birkholtz gene), before dragging an exasperated hand down his face. “We can’t all look like runway models, Justin!” And just like that, Holster retreated upstairs, no doubt to find a pair of tweezers or… a bottle of peroxide to remedy the grey hair situation. 

Ransom turned to David. “If I haven’t said so before, I’m saying it now. Your dad is one melodramatic man sometimes.”

“Tell me about it.”

He side-eyed his son. “You don’t even know what that means.”

Okay, so the expression David just gave him was, without a doubt, an Oluransi one. It had Ife’s ‘Bitch, please ™’ face written all over it (her words, not his). “Um, yeah I do. Exaggerated and overly dramatic, sentimental, or sensational,” he pointed upstairs, “just like Dad.”

Right. His kid was too smart for his own good sometimes. “How about I tell you the story of Malachi.”

“I know the story, Baba. Some dude wanted his kids to learn more about their Jewish culture and created a new tradition, blah, blah, blah. All’s I know is that Malachi is why I don’t get a present on day seven of Hanukkah because I’m supposed to give one to somebody in need,” David said with a huff.

Ransom couldn’t fight back his chuckle. “No, not the story of the Mensch on a Bench. Sit back and listen. I have a feeling in about five minutes your dad is going to finish his freak-out by running to Target for a box of Just for Men. We won’t be leaving the house for at least an hour.”

And so, despite David’s grumbling, Ransom began the story of Malachi’s origin.

 

\-------------------------------------------

**2015- Senior Year**

  
  


Ransom opened the door to the attic, shuffling in, practically dead on his feet from his lengthy study session for his Neurobiology test on Wednesday. Too exhausted to pull himself into the top bunk, he collapsed onto Holster’s bed, still wearing his shoes, and burrowed himself into a nice blanket burrito. He was rudely and noisily pulled out of his post exam coral reef mode sometime later by Holster throwing open the attic door and announcing…

“Poke your head out of my comforter for a minute, Rans, and feast your eyes on the greatest holiday decorations you have ever seen!”

As soon as he left his burrow, Ransom wished he hadn’t, because there stood Holster wearing a blue sweater with an earmuff-wearing llama, the words  [ Happy Llamakkah ](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51GJeQlSuaL._AC_SL230_.jpg) blazoned on top.  In his left hand was a wooden sign reading: Keep calm and eat latkes. In his right, a shiny throw pillow with sequins spelling out ‘[Oy Vey](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=93596391) ’. A bag containing who knows what, lay on the floor. And to top it off, the kitschy [Menorah sunglasses](http://shop.thejewishmuseum.org/PAMDICBPEKFCJOLF/product#.UehOPtLVDTo).

“Um…”

“So good they left you speechless? I know, right. Bro, wait till I show you the  pièce de résistance of my shopping extravaganza. First look at this Menorah I ordered from Etsy!” 

Ransom watched, entranced as Holster’s massive hands made short work of the box’s packaging tape and pulled forth a… “Dinosaur?”

“No! It’s a [Menorasaurus Rex](https://www.etsy.com/listing/214649340/menorasaurus-rex?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_a-home_and_living-spirituality_and_religion-religious_candles_and_incense&utm_custom1=0b673a35-194c-4532-ac68-6e5d57ef3f58&gclid=Cj0KEQiAkO7CBRDeqJ_ahuiPrtEBEiQAbYupJeodMvXgblHDW580CC_sTeNOynv16_7td0ub2-p38OsaAqpp8P8HAQ) ! Plus I got these great cards. Look. It says [Dr. Dre-del](https://www.etsy.com/listing/88423332/dr-dreidel-dr-dre-del-funny-hanukkah) . I made a nice Jewish snowman, named Saul in the front yard, complete with kippah and a bottle, albeit empty, of Manischewitz. He even has a sign I made with a Menorah telling everyone to ‘Get Lit’. And this,” he said, reaching into his bag to pull out a plush toy, “is Malachi.”

“What is… Malachi?”

“You know those creepy elves Gentile parents buy their kids to make them behave at Christmastime so they’ll get presents?”

“Ugh,” Ransom shuddered, “don’t remind me.”

“This is the Hanukkah version, but it’s new. Okay. It was a Kickstarter creation by a dad who wanted to help his kids learn about their Jewish culture.  _ This _ is my [Mensch on a Bench](http://themenschonabench.com/?v=7516fd43adaa). And as soon as I saw him, I had to have him. He’s the coolest thing ever. I already named him.” Holster practically bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement. “I love him. He will go…..right here.” He placed Malachi smack dab in the middle of his dresser. He’s so cool right?” Upon seeing Ransom’s incredulous face, Holster frowned. “What? Look you know me and how I love holiday decorations. For the first time, I actually found Hanukkah decorations that were fun and festive instead of ultra-traditional which is  _ so _ not me. You know my parents are taking a second-honeymoon over break this year, and well my sisters planned an all girl’s trip to Hawaii. Seems no one thought about what poor Adam was going to do over break, I guess. I don’t even get to spend the after Hanukkah time with my family. And I’m seriously bummed out about it. Just let me have this. Please,” Holster begged. “It’s not all for me though. I also got a pair of sunglasses for you.” He didn’t even give Ransom a chance to protest before pulling him out of bed, placing the glasses on his face and holding out his phone for a selfie. “Smile!” When he looked down at his phone, he actually aww’d aloud. “We look so cute.”

“How much did you spend on all of this?”

“Way too much. I have three more bags in the van. I’m so fucking excited!” And just like that Holster was gone, having left the room in the same whirling dervish style in which he’d entered.

And so, in the days that followed, Ransom tried his hardest not to rain on Holster’s parade of Jewish joy, but it seemed that his best friend had sought out the tackiest decorations he could find. When he’d said snowman, he’d neglected to mention that Saul was ten feet tall comprised of snow he’d taken from five entire front yards to build. That was impressive, damn impressive. Joining the snowman was an equally large inflatable one with lights. Frankly, Ransom was surprised the LAX bros hadn’t popped the thing. God, they were such a bag of dick tips.

As garish as all the decorations were, he just couldn’t overlook the way Malachi’s eyes seemed to follow his every move. The thing was less unnerving than an Elf on the Shelf was, but only just. Holster had taken the rules way too seriously, moving Malachi multiple times a day, giving him a Shamash candle to hold. Hell, he even talked to it as though it was a real person, telling Malachi about his day, stories of the team, jokes. Ransom would be concerned if he didn’t realize that it was just Holster’s way of dealing with being alone for most of break. 

What if… no, that was a silly idea. No way would Holster go for that. That was the kind of thing you asked a signif- Unless… Well maybe. He’d have to ask.

On his way up to the attic to change out of his street clothes and into pajamas at the very late hour of four p.m. Ransom passed by the bathroom he and Holster shared with Bitty. Inside, over the sound of hair clippers--ah yes, must be time for the bi-monthly haircut--he could hear Holster talking. At first he thought he was on the phone, which seemed a bit dangerous while holding a Wahl, but to each their own. And so he continued towards the stairs. It was when heard, “So, Malachi. What do you think?” that he backpedaled and stood outside the bathroom door.

_ Eavesdropping, Ransom? Your mother would be ashamed of you. _ That didn’t stop him from listening in, however.

“I know he just got out of a relationship, not that he really explained why. That, by the way M-dawg, is just not like him. Did he think I would judge him? Look, unless he cheated on her, which does not sound like Rans at all, I don’t care why they broke up, just that he’s doing okay and that it wasn’t a mistake to break up. And I don’t even know if that’s true, because he has been really quiet lately. It worries me, man. I just want him happy. Honestly, that is all I really want for Hanukkah and Christmas for  _ him _ not me. Hell that’s what I want all the time. Unrealistic, sure. But I want it nonetheless.”

There was a pause before Holster said anything else, and Ransom could hear the tell-tale click of Holster changing attachments for the back and sides of his hair.

“It’s like…” he sighed, loudly enough to be heard over the whirr of his clippers. “I dunno. If he’s really torn up over this break-up, I wanna help him. Even if that means they get back together. I mean, yeah, it’ll crush me. The same way it crushed me when they first started dating, or when Ransom started dating anyone. You weren’t there when he dated that douchecanoe, Carson sophomore year. The guy was Rans’ bisexual awakening, and like good on you man, being comfortable with yourself. I salute that wholeheartedly. But asshole broke Justin’s heart, and I swear I wanted to rip the guy’s balls off. No one does that to Ransom. Why would you want to to anyway? Watching him date that asshat, then get trampled on by him… fuck that hurt. Rans is like the best person in the world. I mean...if I had been in Carson’s shoes, I would have, dunno worshiped the ground Ransom walked on.” There was a frustrated, wet laugh from the other side of the door. “Hell, I do that already anyway.” 

Gobsmacked, Ransom blinked a few times, trying to shake himself out of his stupor. The bathroom door stuttered like Holster had leaned up against it, which was followed by the sound of him sliding down the door to the floor. 

“I’m such a fucking coward.” Holster’s words were muffled as though he was speaking them into his folded arms, and maybe he was. A dull ache bloomed in Ransom’s chest, a feeling with which he’d become familiar, but only as of late--say about the time he and March decided they worked better as friends--had figured out what it meant.

“And like, I’m gonna stay the same, scared guy I’ve been for years now, and we’re gonna graduate, and he’s like gonna meet the person of his dreams and get married and be disgustingly happy. While I’m...just gonna be miserable and hate myself because I wasn’t brave enough to say that he’s the fucking love of my life. He um… hasn’t said as much, but he thinks it’s ridiculous that I talk to you. I just...about  _ this  _ don’t have anyone else to fucking talk to,” Holster’s voice cracked on the last word, and soon, quiet sobs could be heard from inside the bathroom.

Whoa. No way. There twas no way they were both such oblivious blockheads. 

Quickly, Ransom scuttled up the stairs to the attic before he was caught listening. He had to rethink his Hanukkah gift for Holster.

 

***

 

The only problem with his new plan? He was not artistically inclined at all. So when he ever so cooly, nonchalantly, waltzed into Lardo’s room (see: tripped over her shag area rug and almost fell on his face) to ask for her help.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, holding her sides as she laughed, “that was just...the funniest thing I’ve seen all week. What’s up?”

Ransom’s finger’s white-knuckled the handle to the brown-paper, shopping bag in his hands. “I need your help decorating something important.” He pulled out large Mason jar.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s a jar. Wait a minute, have you been on Pinterest again? I told you that was a bad idea.”

“No,” he flopped onto her bed, “I overheard something I shouldn’t have, but that I can’t just forget I didn’t hear. So I had an idea for a gift that I could like pretend didn’t come from me, but from Holster’s Mensch Malachi.”

Crossing her arms as she considered his words, Lardo’s lips twitched in amusement. “Lay it on me, Bro.”

When he’d laid out his entire plan, he was relieved to not see her laughing at him. In fact, on her face was a rarely seen expression for her, one he decided to call ‘Schmoopiness,” because it was the only way to describe the way her eyes glistened, her brows rose in approval, and he could hear the silent ‘Awwwwwww, that’s sooo schweet,’ rattling around in her brain.

“That is adorable. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “It requires Bitty’s help to make these.”

"[I Want to Marry You Cookies](http://www.cookingchanneltv.com/recipes/i-want-to-marry-you-cookies.html) ,” he read from the screen. “That’s a little quick, Lardo. I just want-”

“The description says, and I quote, ‘About the name. These cookies are the surefire way to get someone to fall in love with you...or at the very least gain a serious addiction to  cookies .’ Seems like a decent recipe to use. Bitty can change it up, add some spices, nuts maybe, and we can henceforth refer to them as Courage Cookies.”

“I...like the sound of that, Lards. So about the decorating…”

“Leave that to me, Rans. Leave that to me.”

 

***

 

This was going to backfire spectacularly, of that Ransom was sure. Still, it didn’t stop him from tucking the immaculately wrapped jar of cookies under Malachi’s arm and then retreat downstairs to watch  _ Sportscenter _ as he waited for Holster to come home. He could play coy, play ignorant, and maybe, just maybe, if he gave the performance of his life, this would all work out for the better. And by better, Ransom meant he hoped it ended with kisses, perhaps a nice ass grab or two.

When the front door opened and Holster walked into the Haus, Ransom gave a simple ‘Hey, man,’ and continued to pretend like he didn’t know exactly what Holster would find in the attic. As the minutes ticked by, he grew anxious. Perhaps Holster didn’t like the gift, perhaps he knew who had left the gift and didn’t take kindly to learning what he assumed was a private conversation had been overheard. 

_ Way to go, jackass.  _

Ransom was just about to descend into Coral Reef Mode when Holster reappeared downstairs, clutching both the gift and Malachi. The blue and gold tissue paper that Ransom had used to wrap it (badly yes, but wrapped nonetheless) remained intact, almost as though Holster was afraid to unwrap it. “What do you have there?” There, subtle, that was good.

“Did you...give me this?” Holster asked, his voice shaky.

“Why? Should I have given you a present today? You told me night seven was when you gave presents to people in need. I thought that meant no one should give you a small gift today.”

Holster’s brows drew together, his lips curled. That was Holster’s tell. Guy was confused. “Well, yes, and I did that. I just got back from helping hand out meals to the homeless. I included a pair of mittens and a hat with each one. That was my gift to people in need. I’m not supposed… Who…”

Ransom shrugged. “Dunno, man. Open it. There might be a card.” There wasn’t. He made sure to use press-on letters for the jar just to make sure Holster didn’t recognize his handwriting.

Holster gestured for him to scoot over and sat beside him on the couch. With trembling fingers, he tugged at the curled blue ribbon until it came untied. Then, with equally shaky hands, untwisted the tissue until he came face to face with the blue glittered, and sequined jar. It had been given Lardo’s ‘Totally Kitsched The Hell Up’ seal of approval. “Eat Me: For Courage,” Holster’s voice was still fraught with confusion, and was it too forward of Ransom to say he sounded adorable? 

Who cares. Holster sounded damn adorable, and Ransom wanted to kiss the confusion right off his face. But they didn’t say patience was a virtue for nothing. So, he bought his time. And continued to buy that damn time until Holster groaned in absolute bliss as he ate one of those cookies. 

“Oh my God, these are fucking amazing. Bitty had to have had a hand in this. But why call them courage…” And then, all the color fled his face in an instant. “Oh fuck! He heard me crying and blubbering like a baby.” His voice contained all the markers of barely-contained panic. Ransom would know; he was an expert at barely-contained panic.

“What? Why were you crying? Did something happen? Are you okay?” That sounded convincing- he hoped.

“No. Not really. I mean no. Nothing happened, but I am far from okay.” He read the label on the jar once more. “For courage, you say?” With great haste, he chowed down a second cookie and took a deep breath. “Rans, if someone you were good friends with, maybe were best friends with, ride or die friends with, go to the ends of the earth or “ I’ll give you a kidney or bone marrow transplant” friends with were to say to you something like…” Another deep, yet shuddering inhale and a whispered ‘Be brave’ under his breath. “You’re the most amazing person they knew, pretty much the center of my whole world. Someone I base almost all of my decisions on. ‘What would Ransom say about this?’ ‘Would this make Ransom happy?’ And if that friend said something like how there is nowhere they would rather be than by your side every step of the way from here on out, want to wake up to your face every morning, and like were madly and disgustingly in love with you...what would you say back?”

Ransom swallowed hard, and then took a shaky breath of his own. “I would say, I think I’m gonna need one of those cookies.”

Holster chuckled, the sound of it wild, a bit frenzied, but handed one over anyway. Ransom fought back the moan of appreciation at their taste as he ate the cookie in practically one bite, and once he’d managed to swallow the enormous bite, took Holster’s face in his hands, crashing their lips together in a sloppy and wholly desperate kiss. 

Somewhere in that mess of tongue, roaming hands, and tangled limbs, Ransom thought he heard the front door open and a shocked, ‘Oh dear Lord’ before the door shut again, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew in that moment, that he was happier than he’d been in a long, long time.

 

\-------

 

**2027- Present day**

  
  


“And that,” Ransom said, finishing up his story, with a few amendments to make the ending appropriate for an eight year old. There had definitely been more than an ass grab or two and a lot less clothing. That was neither here nor there nor important to the story, “was how your Dad got Malachi. So see? I can’t give him away, and you can’t either, David. He’s important to your Dad. When he has something he can’t even talk to me about, he gets Malachi out of storage. Yeah, I know,” he said when David laughed, “it’s silly, but it makes him happy. And you know how he said that all he wanted for Hanukkah that year was for me to be happy? Well goes the same for me.”

David scoffed, “That is really cheesy, Baba. But whatever, I’ll stop trying to hide Malachi, and I’ll quit calling him creepy.” David hopped off the couch, his mop of springy, brown curls, the perfect blend of Oluransi and Birkholtz, bouncing as he ran off to do God knows what in his room. Plot world domination most likely.

“That was  _ you _ ?” Holster’s shocked, pleasantly so, it seemed, voice startled him. “You gave me that gift?”

Ransom stood, shoving his hands in his pocket. He was going for sheepish; he hoped it worked. “Guilty as charged.”

“But-”

“Look, I didn’t mean to overhear at first, and I meant to keep walking, but then you started talking about me, saying all those wonderful things about me, and they...felt good to hear. When you started pouring your heart out, you sounded so sad, and I just couldn’t walk away. I didn’t want you to know they were from me,  because I didn’t want you to think it was an invasion of privacy. I swear I meant to leave, but I cou- Mmph.” His words were cut off by a kiss.

After Ransom had thoroughly had his breath taken away--listen, Holster could be loud, grumpy, and misanthropic, but he was also a damn good kisser--Holster pulled back, his eyes a bit damp. “Rans, Justin, if I wasn’t already married to you, I’d ask you to marry me again.”

Ransom smirked. “You know we could always renew our vows.”

Holster pulled him tightly against his chest, trailing a line of kisses from his jaw to his collarbone. “Mmm, I love it when you get all sappy and romantic. Really turns me on,” he mumbled against Ransom’s skin.”

“Ugh, gross,” David groaned, choosing that moment to return to the living room. “Someone outta buy Malachi a present for all of the gross kissing stuff he’s seen over the years. Like a blindfold. So totally gross.”

“You know,” Ransom said, “he gets that sass from your side of the family.

"Yeah," Holster laughed, "he really does."

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on [Tumblr](http://secretgeniusshittyknight.tumblr.com/)


End file.
